


Another Word for Luck

by tennesseebedward



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Biracial Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gen, Gender Identity, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, Intersex Neville Longbottom, Misgendering, Past Character Death, Prophecy, Self-Reflection, Trans Girl Harry Potter, ft. an emotional support toad, sometimes you just gotta vent to your friends, this isn't as sad as it sounds i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tennesseebedward/pseuds/tennesseebedward
Summary: Hattie Potter and Neville Longbottom can't sleep. They talk about their problems instead.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83
Collections: Expelli-gender! 2020





	Another Word for Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emyn ab morlan (gwenynnefydd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/gifts).



> i went a little off-topic with your prompt, but i hope you still like it!

Hattie Potter can’t sleep. Whenever it seems like she’s about to, she remembers the prophecy and stays up for another half hour. She can hear Hermione Granger snore in the neighboring bed. It’s the first night Hermione’s been able to. Hattie doesn’t want to wake her up over this -- the Battle of the Department of Mysteries is still too fresh for anyone to talk about, prophecy or not. So she reaches for her invisibility cloak on a neighboring chair. She takes extra care to not wake Crookshanks on her way to the Gryffindor Common Room.

* * *

The Common Room itself is empty. Hattie slips off her cloak as she walks to the couch closest to the smouldering fireplace. She wandlessly casts _Incendio,_ and the wood coughs up a small flame. Hattie lays the cloak across her lap when she sits down. It turns invisible, but the weight is still present. The orange light of the fire wraps around it, reflecting onto her brown arms at weird angles. It’s comforting to focus on something mundane. Hattie almost tricks herself into relaxing.

Alas, the prophecy tugs at her brain once more. Her thoughts turn from orange lights to blue as she remembers staring at one of a million orbs in the Hall of Mysteries. She remembers its energy, how it pulses at her touch. And she remembers its voice -- Trelany’s voice, though decades younger -- as it whispers a vision of her future.

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,_ it rasps. _Born to those who have thrice defied Him, born as the seventh month dies._ _And the Dark Lord will mark him as His equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not._ _And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._

“Mark him as His equal”. “He will have power the Dark Lord knows not”.

“He”.

“Him”.

Not her.

Hattie almost laughs at herself. She listened to a prophecy that speaks of her death, yet she’s hung up over misused pronouns. She knows it’s a bit silly. If Ron were up, he’d probably say that prophecies are rubbish anyways, so she shouldn’t let it get to her. Joke that her nerves wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t room with Hermione. And Hattie would probably laugh, and agree, and change the subject.

Yet she would still be bothered by it, even then.

Why does it bother her so much?

“Hattie? You okay?”

Hattie jumps at the new voice. When she turns, though, she only finds Neville Longbottom, carefully holding a toad in their hands.

“I’m fine.” Hattie relaxes more, resting one of her arms atop the couch. She nods towards the toad. “Trevor got out again?”

“Always does.” Neville readjusts Trevor when he croaks in worry. “Honestly, I’m a bit glad he got out tonight. I can’t sleep, and this is better than staring at the ceiling.”

Hattie tilts her head. “Everything alright?”

Neville begins to nod their head, but stops. 

“Well,” they say, “no. Nothing’s alright. But I can’t figure out what’s not right about it.”

Trevor croaks impatiently. Neville shushes him. Trevor croaks again, louder, as Neville sits in a neighboring chair. Neville starts petting Trevor with a finger and that seems to calm him down. He eases onto Neville’s leg as they turn back to Hattie.

“I don’t think I ever said sorry, for what happened with Sirius,” Neville says. “It’s hard to lose someone that quick.”

Hattie tries not to wince. That is definitely not the name she needs to hear right now. If anything, thinking about the prophecy is better than thinking about Sirius. “You don’t have to apologize for it. You didn’t kill him.”

“I know.” Neville glances at Trevor, now sound asleep. They mostly mumble the next sentence. “Bellatrix did.”

Hattie does wince at this. She’d almost forgotten about Neville’s parents in St. Mungo’s. They had been cursed by Bellatrix Lestrange, too.

“Thank you, though,” Hattie quickly adds. “His will reading’s soon. I guess that’s worrying me.”

Neville looks back up. Even if they won’t say it, they look glad about a subject change. “I heard Draco’s going to be there. His Mum’s a Black. She’s one of...her sisters.”

Hattie nods. She already knows which “her” they’re referring to. “I think so, yeah.”

“When you get there, could you just... I dunno. Punch him? Punch Draco. Just once. In the nose.”

Hattie can’t help but smile at the thought. “Oh, I can definitely do that.”

“Good.” Neville’s smiling now, too. “You’ve got to manage stress somehow.”

Hattie and Neville start snickering, trying to stay as quiet as possible in case someone else wakes up. They slightly fail -- Trevor opens his eyes at the noise, but quickly flutters them closed again. Neville tentatively starts petting Trevor again, and his breathing remains steady.

“Have you actually talked to him?” Neville asks. “Since the Battle, I mean.”

Hattie thinks. “No. Have you?”

“No. It feels like he’s avoiding me.”

“I think he’s avoiding all of us.” Hattie knows Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater. Everyone knows. Admittedly, the idea that Draco might be avoiding her because of what happened at the Department of Mysteries is surprising. Draco’s always been a prick. He still belittles her and her friends, claims his blood makes him untouchable. But he seems to know boundaries. He doesn’t make fun of Hermione for being black, or Hattie for being trans. “Maybe I’ll ask him about it during the reading. After I punch him.”

Neville isn’t able to stop themself from laughing. Trevor wakes up and croaks in annoyance. He gets ready to hop off Neville’s lap. Neville catches him at the last second and tries to get him to settle down.  Trevor relaxes and seems to be happy for the attention.

“You never said what was bothering you.” Hattie says this when she remembers it. She and Neville can’t both avoid talking about problems. One of them has to actually own up, and Neville has always been better at doing so.

Neville fidgets in their chair. Hattie can feel their discomfort. “Well. A lot of stuff, really. I’m still staying with my Nan over the summer, and that’s never fun. I mean… She knows I’m intersex. She knows I go by they/them. She just doesn’t think she’s being malicious by ignoring it.”

Hattie frowns and starts moving her hand. She realizes she isn’t close enough to physically comfort Neville, though, so she places it on top of the invisibility cloak.

“I’m sorry, Neville.” She says. “That’s horrible.”

Trevor croaks again, but it’s softer, as if to be comforting. Neville pets him in response. 

“It’s gotten to a point that I have to tune her out whenever she talks,” they say. “I’m trying to save up for my own place next year. If I have to spend another summer there, I won’t be able to take it.”

“I can loan you some money,” Hattie offers. She’s needed some of her parents' inheritance to pay for HRT, but there should be enough to help Neville, even if just a little bit. “You won’t have to pay me back.”

Neville shakes their head. “I can’t ask you for that. I’d rather do it by myself -- to prove I can do it myself. Besides, if I get a loan, my Nan will think I’m begging for ‘handouts’, no matter where it comes from. This is my decision and she needs to respect that.”

Hattie nods. She thinks, vaguely, of the Dursleys. “If you need a flatmate, let me know. I know how to make pasta.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Hattie hopes for a laugh, but Neville’s lighter tone is a good substitute. “I’m sure we could both use the company.”

Hattie remembers the upcoming will reading and her mood sours. “Yeah. That, too.”

* * *

The reading will take place in Grimmauld Place. Hattie isn’t sure how she feels about Grimmauld Place. The history of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is plapatable in every room, even when Sirius was its sole occupant. Hattie isn’t sure she would be able to tolerate it if she were living on her own there, if Sirius decided to give it to her at all. But she also feels a weird significance to it -- an obligation, of sorts. It was where she first came out to Sirius, after all.

Hattie remembers the day vividly, in part because she’d spent the better part of a weekend building up the courage to do it. When she sits next to him in the main living room, she thinks she’s ready. But she’s still nervous. When she explains what it means to be transgender, her hands shake. She can’t look him in the eyes when she tells him her name. When she finishes talking, the room is entirely quiet.

 _This is a mistake,_ she thinks. _I shouldn’t have done this. Maybe I can backtrack?_

Hattie starts sputtering something. She doesn’t entirely process what she’s saying -- only that words are coming out of her mouth. She hopes they’re at least comprehensible. When Sirius tries to say something, Hattie just continues on, entirely rambling, occasionally mumbling. She wants to stop talking, but can’t.

“Hattie,” Sirius repeats.

Hattie stops, in part because she realizes Sirius had to repeat “Hattie” to get her attention. She turns to look at him.

“First,” Sirius begins, “I’m glad you’re being honest with me about this. It takes a lot to talk to anyone about yourself, especially when it’s something this personal. Second: I’ll make sure to refer to you properly from now on. I’m sorry if I ever slip up in the future. I’ll try not to, of course, but still. Third, and I feel this is the most important bit: I’m glad you inherited Lily’s taste.” Sirius puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Hattie’s a lovely name.”

Hattie doesn’t immediately respond. Honestly, she’s expecting to catch him lying.

When she realizes he isn’t, Hattie pulls him into a hug. Sirius softly chuckles and returns the gesture.

“For what it’s worth,” Sirius says, “you’re still a bloody fantastic goddaughter.”

Hattie laughs into Sirius’s shirt and hugs him tighter. In retrospect, it’s a bit of a miracle she doesn’t start crying.

* * *

“So, I said what was bothering me.” Neville puts Trevor on their shoulder since he’s calmed down enough. “Why are you up?”

Hattie, returning to the present moment, thinks long and hard before answering Neville. She isn’t sure what to actually admit to. She eventually chooses the more obvious, less personally invasive option: “I keep thinking about the prophecy.”

Neville nods. “It’s a scary thing, to hear about your own death.”

“It’s not just that,” Hattie admits. “Honestly, I’m a bit used to the death bit. We’ve basically almost died every year here, anyways.” Neville doesn’t argue with that. “It’s more...well. Honestly, it’s a bit silly.”

“If it’s bothering you, then it isn’t silly,” Neville reassures.

Hattie still hesitates before continuing. “When I listened to the prophecy, it still referred to me as a guy. Bit of a ‘salt-in-the-wound’ situation, really.”

Neville winces. Trevor makes a noise of complaint, but otherwise remains on their shoulder. “Yikes. I’m sorry, Hattie.”

“It’s no big deal.” Hattie forces herself to shrug noncommittally. “Like I said, it’s silly.”

Neville frowns. “I don’t want to sound rude, but you’re a horrible liar.”

Hattie half-succeeds, half-fails in stifling a laugh. “Thanks.”

“I mean it in the best way, though,” Neville says. “If it helps, I don’t think you can change a prophecy, and all the predictions happened when you were a baby. They probably didn’t know about you being trans.” Neville pauses. Their eyebrows furrow, meaning they’re trying especially hard to figure out something. “Wait, no. It says you die. If it says you die, then the person ought to know you’re a girl. They would have seen you by now.” Another pause. Neville shakes their head. “Bit of a shite move, not correctly gendering you.”

Hattie fully fails in stifling a laugh. She checks the surrounding area, as if waiting for someone to come down and yell at them, before continuing. “Trelawny made the prophecy way back in the day. I think it’s how she became a teacher. Anyways, doesn’t shock me that she’s a transphobe.”

“It’s a part of her aesthetic,” Neville agrees.

Hattie can’t stop herself from laughing at that one. She doesn’t care if anyone hears it. Neville joins in, their laughter about as loud as hers. Trevor makes a noise of disapproval, and Neville hushes him.

Hattie’s surprised at how much she’s enjoying herself. Even if the topics at hand aren’t fun, it’s easy to talk to Neville about this. More than she expected, honestly. Ron and Hermione have been her friends for years. She would trust either one with her life. But Ron and Hermione are still cis. There will always be some sort of difference in the way they understand misused pronouns. They don’t understand the insecurity it feeds into, the dread. Neville does. 

Then again, even if she explains it in excruciating detail, even they won’t understand why the Ministry battle replays in her mind.

Because, the more she thinks about it, the more one memory in particular loops.

* * *

It’s the middle of the battle. Death Eaters zip around the room. Order members follow close behind, and they sometimes collide. Spells fly left and right, an explosion of colors through the air. Hattie isn’t sure how she ended up back-to-back with Sirius during the battle, but they mesh together well.

Hattie sees a Death Eater apparate nearby and shoots a knockback jinx. The Death Eater falls flat on his arse, and takes a moment to grumble about it.

Sirius cracks with laughter at the sight. “Nice one, James!” 

Sirius doesn’t even register the mistake. Hattie isn’t sure he even noticed. He just re-enters the fray, seeming to fire any spell that comes to mind. She figures he got caught up the moment. She’s sure he would’ve apologized, had he survived.

Wouldn’t he? 

The uncertainty frightens Hattie more than she’s willing to admit.

* * *

Still.

It wouldn’t hurt to try.

When both her and Neville’s laughter dies down, Hattie starts speaking again. “There is...something else bothering me, on top of all that.”

Neville doesn’t press her for more information. They sit attentively and look at her directly. This is her story, and she’s glad they aren’t pressuring her for more information. The lighter mood certainly helps.

“It’s Sirius,” Hattie begins. “It's not just his death that's bothering me. During the battle at the Department of Mysteries, we ended up fighting alongside each other. Most of it went fine, but then he--.”

Hattie pauses when she hears her throat turning hoarse.

“But then he--.”

Her voice is hoarse again. Hattie clears her throat, but knows it won’t actually solve the problem. A hoarse throat won’t change the ending of the story she’s about to tell, or the emotions it causes.

“He--.” 

Hattie hates this. Sirius was the first person to support her transition. He was there for her first HRT appointment. He almost hexed a stranger that deadnamed her. She doesn’t want this to be her final memory of him. She doesn’t want to think about this or the prophecy or any other garbage thing this year has thrown her way. She wishes this year was a bad dream she’s on the brink of waking up from.

But Hattie knows it isn’t. The prophecy is real and Sirius is dead. She feels tears pricking her eyes and quietly wipes them away. Neville waits for Hattie to continue.

She takes a deep breath.

“He called me James.” Hattie’s surprised that she can keep her voice cool. “We were fighting in the Ministry and he called me James. I’m sure he even noticed. He just...thought I was my father for a moment. And that was the last thing he ever said to me.”

Neville doesn’t immediately respond. Hattie doesn’t blame them.

“That’s, uh.” Neville leans back in their chair. “Bloody hell.”

“Yeah.” Hattie leans back on the couch. “Bloody hell.”

A pause. Then, Hattie continues: “If it helps, this was the first time something like this happened. It just also happened to be the worst possible time for it.”

The crackling fireplace fills the resulting quiet. Hattie can hear a faint whistle with every one of Trevor’s exhales. He must have fallen asleep sometime during her story. Hattie wishes she could do the same.

“There isn’t really something I can say to instantly fix all this.” Neville begins. They don’t make eye contact with Hattie at first, as if they’re still developing their words as they speak. “I wish there was. I wish I didn’t have to live with my Nan, and I wish you had a better goodbye with Sirius. I wish there wasn’t a prophecy or a Dark Lord or any of that nonsense. I wish things would be better, even if they’re probably going to be worse further ahead.”

Now Neville looks at Hattie. “But I want you to know you’re not alone in this. None of us are. Not you, or me, or Hermione, or Ron. If we can convince Draco to stop being a prick, maybe we can have a group venting session about things. Just know that, if things get rough, you’ve got an ear.”

Hattie weakly smiles in response. “Right. And I hope you know I’d do the same for all of you, no matter how bad everything is.” After a pause: “Thanks.”

Neville nods. “Like you said: you’d do the same.”

The silence after this, as opposed to a few minutes ago, is much more comfortable. Hattie glances at a nearby clock. It’s two in the morning. Actually seeing the time makes Hattie yawn. She figures both she and Neville will probably go to bed soon, since neither one seems to be rushing to continue talking.

“You know,” Neville says, “I’ve been thinking about changing my name.”

Hattie looks away from the clock. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure what to go with yet. I want it to have a special meaning. Maybe another word for ‘luck’. That’d sound nice, I think.” Neville says. They furrow their eyebrows for a moment, but unfurrow them just as quickly. “It...honestly feels weird, saying that out loud. I don’t think I’ve talked to anyone else about it yet.” They turn to look at Hattie directly. “We should talk more about it tomorrow. In case neither of us can sleep again.”

Hattie smiles and nods. “I’d like that, yeah.”

Trevor makes himself known with another small noise. Neville tends to him again while Hattie studies how flames reflect off the invisibility cloak.

**Author's Note:**

> https://transrightsuk.carrd.co/
> 
> https://transrightshumanrights.carrd.co/


End file.
